Pushing Midnight
by Maia's Pen
Summary: COMPLETE! Gary Oak meant nothing to Misty. He only caused her inescapable ecstasy and imminent resentment. There was no room for affection, that ship had sailed. (Egoshipping. Gary x Misty. Angst Alert!)
1. Chapter 1

3 NOTES ABOUT THIS STORY:

*This story is rated 'M' for Mature due to language, alcohol use and 'sexy' character situations. If any of the above makes you uncomfortable: do not read. If you like the above trio of naughtiness, welcome to my 'big girl' story.

*This story is an 'Egoshipper', which means it features a romantic interest between Gary Oak and Misty Waterflower. If you do not want to read about this pairing, then don't. ;)

*This story will be a short one, told in three chapters.

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**Pushing Midnight**

By Maia's Pen

Chapter One

_Where the hell is he? _

Misty Waterflower scrutinized the clock on the nightstand: 11:33PM. He told her to wait for him here— in _his_ hotel room— at 11PM. Now she was getting pissed off. Texting him was not an option. She didn't want to appear desperate. She didn't want him to _even think _that she was anxious to see him. Not when he _clearly _wasn't in any rush to see her. After all, this was just a convenient sex-hook-up, nothing more.

Gary Oak meant nothing to her.

Misty walked over to the mini-fridge and selected the most expensive-looking bottle of vodka. Gary could afford it, and he owed her far more for thirty-three—_correction_— thirty-four minutes of neglect.

The redhead took a mighty swig directly from the bottle. The vodka was vanilla, a flavor quite opposite to the actions she had planned for Gary tonight. The cold alcohol somehow ran hot down her throat, coating her esophagus and stomach like lava pouring into a valley. Misty squinted against the sheer power of the alcohol, sinuses tingling as her blood seemed to boil from cheeks to toes. Well, _something _had to make her blood hot if _someone_ wasn't around do it.

Misty pressed the bottle to her lips again, smirking against it and wishing it were not a bottle at all . . . but rather her favorite anatomical part of Gary. A part that could also warm her mouth, her throat . . . Misty swallowed a large gulp, then another, and another— _hell—_ who counts when the shots are free.

Was she looking forward to seeing Gary? _No. Hell no._ The man was like a knot tied suffocatingly-tight around her mind, around her hea— _shut up, Waterflower. _Gary was like that irritating knot that you tied in your shoe months ago, and every time you try to untie it you get frustrated and tug really hard — just hoping it will separate— but somehow you only fasten it tighter. So _no,_ Misty was not looking forward to seeing Gary, only her body was. He caused her inescapable ecstasy and imminent resentment.

Misty was using Gary. Using him like the microwave to heat water for the tea she needed to relax. Only Gary was used to heat her very bloodstream so that her hormones could relax.

That beautiful man . . . his body was the portal to an unseen world. A sinful world where addictive euphoria overwhelmed her. To lay with him was like playing with fire, well-knowing that the flames would burn her alive— leave her marred, scarred and hurting for hours, days, weeks afterward. It was an agony she craved — a pain she thrived on, that she _needed. _And she damn-well despised herself for being so weak. For allowing him to have such power over her when he couldn't even bother to turn up on time.

Misty strolled, quite tipsily, toward the full-length hotel mirror. She made a mean face at her reflection, pitying herself for even still being here, in _his _damn room. At least she'd had an excuse to buy a fabulous dress, not something a gym leader had many reasons to shop for. Fashion-wise Misty had gone 'all out' for Gary's award ceremony, the afterparty of which was still raging downstairs. This party was likely to blame for his tardiness. No, correction: the only one to blame for Gary's tardiness was Gary.

The award ceremony had been held in the main ballroom of this grand hotel: Chateau Vulpix. The chateau was an ancient castle transformed into a modern hotel, and it boasted hundreds of rooms and several ballrooms. The largest ballroom was where the action was now. Where the top Pokemon researchers of the year were being honored. It was a full-blown, black-tie formal affair. Everyone-who-was-anyone was in attendance, even the Elite Four and the Pokemon Master himself, her buddy Ash Ketchum.

Misty considered her refection again and the effort she'd spent to 'glamour-up' for the occasion. Her new dress was an elegant shade of seafoam-green. It had short ruffly sleeves and the fabric was sparkly, flowing like a waterfall to her ankles. Misty swam for hours everyday and this dress perfectly showcased her fit figure, without flaunting unnecessary skin. Only a modest side-slit hinted at her bare legs beneath. Misty's ginger locks fell in long piles past her shoulders, and her favorite Horsea barrette pinned the hair off her left ear. Glittering silver gemstones fell around her neckline and, for additional dazzle, a Pokeball charm bracelet wrapped her wrist. Even her shoes were pretty darn glamorous, the strappy heels perfectly matched her dress and made her look tall. _Okay, tall-ish_. Barefoot her head reached Gary's chest, but she had a shot at sucking on his neck in these heels. Despite looking radiant, Misty's reflection held blatant disapproval . . . her beauty efforts were wasted.

Vodka bottle in hand, Misty slumped down on Gary's bed. It was Slowking-sized, incredibly plush and with an opulent golden comforter. Gary's entire room was posh, the very walls were carved from black apricorn wood and decorated with paintings of Pokemon and gardens. Several potted plants were scattered about and they released a heavenly floral aroma. Heck, even the television set was the size of a Blastoise shell! All of the decor was fancier than her standard room a few floors below.

Gary always had preferred the finer things in life, even as a ten-year-old. He was the only new Pokemon trainer she'd ever seen being chauffeured around by cheerleaders in a convertible car, staying at nice hotels and going on vacations in-between gym battles! Other trainers walked and shivered in sleeping bags in the dirt. Herself included. So it was no surprised that adult Gary had spared no expense when renting _this_ room. This was a room with a jacuzzi, massive bed, balcony overlooking the Indigo Plateau, and a fridge stocked with pricey alcohol. This was a room he planned to celebrate in.

Had Gary simply assumed that he would be the big winner of the evening? A landslide, sweeping victor against all other researchers? That he would be named 'Pokemon Researcher of the Year'— at twenty-six years old, the youngest in history?

Of course he did. What Gary did best was know he was _the best. _

Misty endured the burn of another vodka sip. Sighing she flopped backward into Gary's bed like a K.O.'d Pokemon. She squeezed her eyes shut as though the mere act would squeeze Gary from her memory. It didn't work. Misty recalled every detail of his earlier big win and wished she could forget . . .

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_100 minutes earlier . . . _

The ballroom was massive, lavish and loud — it seated hundreds and all of the seats were full. Dozens upon dozens of round tables were layered before a grand stage, and these tables were jam-packed with guests dressed to the nines.

Misty was glad that she'd chosen to sit in the rear section of tables, with the 'general' guests. _Okay,_ so she didn't have a great view of the stage, but there was an enormous screen on the wall that projected a close-up of the action. Misty stifled a yawn, the award ceremony had already been going on for over an hour. While many awards had been presented for various scientific achievements, the main event was yet to occur: the naming of the 'Pokemon Researcher of the Year'.

Misty did not know the other six people at her table, they were all seemingly-nice couples. She was the odd one out as she'd attended the event _stag,_ a solo act. Misty knew she looked out-of-place, but didn't care. The empty chair beside her was the perfect place to store her purse.

Ash, his date, The Elite Four, and most of the other Gym Leaders were seated in the VIP section up front. Gary and the other award nominees were also included in that section. Misty's sister, Lilly, had attended as Lance the Dragon Master's date. Ash, Lance and Lilly had harassed her to sit with them. But Misty lied, saying that she was 'too tired to party'. She fibbed that she aimed to leave early and didn't want to appear rude. She explained that: it would be easier for her to slip out, before the afterparty began, if she was seated toward the back. The trio couldn't argue with her seating-logic.

The truth: Misty and Gary could not be seen leaving the party at the same time without drawing suspicion. Everyone would be watching him, so she needed to execute stealth.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it's my honor to announce our final winner of the night! This is the big one folks! The 'Pokemon Researcher of the Year' is . . ." there was an audible drumroll, "Professor Gary Oak!" The entire ballroom erupted into deafening applause and screaming. Misty would have covered her ears, but that would look rude and she was a professional.

The host of the award ceremony, an overweight middle-aged fellow in a tuxedo, continued: "Congratulations, Professor Oak, on your historical achievement! Folks, he is the youngest researcher in history to receive this recognition! C'mon up here and accept your award, Professor!" The host was barely discernible over the thunderous applause.

The ballroom of hundreds rose to their feet, presenting a standing-ovation for Gary. The seas of guests literally parted to allow him to find the stage. Begrudgingly Misty stood, she couldn't be the only one on her ass without looking like one.

Now upright Misty saw Gary ascend the stage steps, a spotlight following him the entire way. He waved at the audience as he approached the host— the man was positively swooning over Gary like a fangirl. The host shook Gary's hand with such enthusiasm Misty thought he might sever the limb. That would be a shame, as Misty had many dirty, sultry plans for that hand.

A woman in the front row tossed her bra onto the stage and Misty tossed back the remainder of her chardonnay. The host presented Gary with a large golden trophy, complete with a shiny Pokeball on top. The professor had won quite a few awards in his twenty-six years, but this would no doubt be on the top shelf of his collection. To be named 'Researcher of the Year' meant that you were at the pinnacle of success. Many professors strove for even a nomination, never earning even that honor throughout their esteemed careers. What Gary achieved tonight was truly monumental. Everyone in the ballroom knew that they were witnessing a scientific legend. Misty wanted to join in their awe, she even wanted to be _proud of him_ . . . but both of those emotions were reserved for someone you actually gave a shit about.

The only _feeling _she would grant Gary tonight would be the sexual kind: _unemotional, hard and with zero talking (unless it was dirty)_. That was their deal.

The stage photographer began snapping shots of Gary posing with the host and his award. While the host grinned like Mr. Mime, Gary Oak's smile thieved the very air from her lungs. _By all of the legendary Pokemon _ . . . did he ever look good. _No, _the word 'good' was a pitiful understatement. Cupcakes looked good, sunsets looked good . . . in that moment Gary was the most desirable man she had ever beheld.

Every cell in her body ignited as though hit with a Flamethrower attack. That is, if a Flamethrower could douse you in Oak pheromones. Misty's brain recognized his image and_ responded to him_. She may have hated him, but her body remembered the rapture he could create. She was powerless against her physiological response. Helpless against her thundering pulse and the muscles tightening within her abdomen, between her thighs. Like a Magikarp going up against Zapdos, her body didn't stand a chance.

A designer tuxedo sheathed Gary's athletic physique. It was black like his heart. However the vest and bowtie were Articuno-blue and they matched the shade of his eyes. Gary's hair was his trademark — and even at such a prestigious event— it remained untamed. Auburn spikes made him appear even taller than he was (and he had a foot on Misty to begin with). He would never bother to harness those spikes— they did whatever the hell they wanted, just like him. Gary was debonair in sweatpants, but he cleaned-up so damn well tonight. The young professor looked like a professional actor as he stood upon that stage. In front of screaming fans, cameras, and media . . . Gary was a natural super star. His good-looks and charisma were destined for the spotlight. And that very spotlight (as well as the camera lenses and the eyes of the audience) couldn't relish in his image enough. Everyone wanted more Gary Oak. Unfortunately for them, his handsome face was only destined for her mouth tonight.

Breaking away from the photographer, Gary turned an bowed graciously at the crowd. "Wow! Thank you so much!" He grinned into the microphone and purposely flaunted his dimples. He raised his trophy like it was a legendary Poke'egg. The jerk actually _looked surprised _that he'd won. _As if._ As if any other science-nerd stood a chance going up against Gary-mother-fuckin'-Oak.

Gary continued his speech over the relentless cheers from his admirers. "Thank you to the Pokemon Science Academy for this amazing honor. Thank you to my grandfather, Professor Samuel Oak— a past recipient of this award — for all of his guidance." Gary pointed at his grandfather who was sitting in the front row, the videographer zoomed in on the senior professor's face and displayed his beaming image on the main screen. "Gramps was instrumental in aiding my Mega Gyarados research. Gramps made sure that my research was organized and fit to present before the esteemed academy panel. Thank you to all of the Gyarados who tolerated my relentless stalking of them day and night for years—" the crowd laughed absurdly loudly and some random woman yelled _'how can I sign up for that service!?',_ which only got the crowd laughing harder. "In addition, I have to thank my wife, Jocelyn, who has been tolerant of my long hours away studying these Gyarados in the field. Jocelyn couldn't be here tonight in person." Even though Misty knew _Jocelyn's 'thank you' _was coming, she still had to fight against the urge to flinch. "And, lastly, I have to thank someone incredibly special to me." Gary now looked up . . . as though searching for someone, and proceeded: "This is someone I owe a great deal of appreciation to. I'm honored this person is here to celebrate with me tonight. You know who you are, thank you."

Misty stiffened. _What the hell was that about? He barely mentions his wife — she's not even here for some reason, at his big event — and he says THAT. Was he referring to . . . me? _She glanced around, but no one at her table seemed to suspect that Gary had intended his final 'thank you' for her. Then again, why would they? She was paranoid. And maybe he hadn't intended it for her? Why would he include her anyway? She meant nothing to him. She was a fool to even entertain the notion of his appreciation.

Misty was slapped from her thoughts as the host slapped Gary on the back. He patted his shoulder as though Gary were the coolest person he'd ever stood next to. "Isn't he somthin', folks! What a treasure to our scientific community!"

As Gary descended the stage steps his head turned in Misty's direction. He _was_ searching for her. Misty almost ducked under the table, but she didn't want to look totally insane to her table-mates. Like sapphire searchlights did Gary's eyes pinpoint her now. His sight transformed from searchlight to laser, and immediately focused upon her. Dark lashes gave way to sinful pools, pools where she would willingly surrender her final breath.

Gary nodded once. It was not just a friendly, familiar acknowledgment. It was a gesture of verification— confirming their evening plans in his hotel room tonight.

Misty did not want to nod back. She wanted to shoot him her middle finger and scream at him— tell him to shove that trophy up his ass along with his wedding ring. But, even if there weren't hundreds of people around, her body would never have allowed her to do that. Misty's own head betrayed her as she returned the nod. Like a weak Pokemon captured by a Master Ball, she was compelled.

The anticipation of seeing Gary later . . . of _being with him_ . . . his hands-mouth-body-against-her-inside-her-it griped her with a carnal yearning that was unbearable. Misty needed to leave the ballroom. _Now._ And she did not want to attract attention as she departed. Acting as casual as one could (while slightly drunk and in tall heels), Misty made her way out and toward the elevator. In a few minutes that ballroom would evolve into a wild party of dancers drinking-up a science-celebration storm!

It was 10PM now, and she and Gary had made arrangements for 11PM. This was the perfect time to sneak away. It gave the 'man of the hour' plenty of time to make his party social rounds, and then briefly excuse himself to come upstairs and ravage her. What he did after that didn't matter to her in the slightest.

But still . . . as she rode the elevator to the top floor, Misty couldn't help but curse fate. Fate _just had_ to pair her and Gary here—together—tonight at this award ceremony.

As a gym leader Misty was expected to attend, as was customary every year. Gym leaders needed to support Pokemon scientific achievements. And, most years, Misty did enjoy attending the event. It wasn't until after Misty accepted her invitation that she had found out Gary was nominated. Truthfully, she wasn't surprised by his nomination, his analysis on Mega Gyarados evolution was groundbreaking. He had been fanatically studying Gyarados for the past two years, and his hard work had paid off in spades.

Yesterday the text came: "Room 900. Key will be under the rug by my door. 11PM."

Misty wanted to delete the message. Her thumb hovered over the 'trash button' for several minutes. But her fingers would never comply. Her fingers ached to be on his face, in his hair, in his mouth, upon and around every part of his body.

Instead Misty replied with a simple, unenthusiastic 'thumbs up' emoji. Her message was marked as 'read', but he never acknowledged it. Gary would not expect her to reply with smiles or heart eyes, and he didn't want them either.

Unemotional, hard and with zero talking (unless it was dirty). That was their deal.

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NOTE: Please review! Reviews make my Muse push plot outta me and make my fingers type faster. The next (and final) chapter is in the works and shitz gunna get real. The angst! Be sure to visit my website for story art: egoshipper dot com. Looking forward to reading your thoughts. I respond to every signed review. Maia's Pen


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It was 11:40 PM. Misty swung a drunken fist at the clock, missing by an embarrassing amount. She cussed at the timepiece, insulting its mother clock. Now she was doubly ashamed: she had just attempted physical and verbal assault on an inanimate object. The next logical course of action? Smoosh one of Gary's golden pillows into her face and cuss into that. Even though Gary couldn't hear her profanity, the release felt good.

Misty had not seen —_ or rather been intimate with—_ Gary for six weeks. It was rarer and rarer for their paths to cross these days. She was busy and he was busy (_hell, he was_ _married!). _Too much time together was dangerous for both of them, and for many reasons.

Speaking of . . . where in Kanto was Mrs. Oak tonight? When Misty had received Gary's text yesterday, she had assumed Jocelyn would be here with him. She figured that he was planning to ditch his wife at the afterparty and slip away to see her. They had played that sneaky game before. It was very strange that his wife (of two years!) was MIA for her husband's big 'to-do'.

And what was up with his speech? Who was this 'someone' he _appreciated_ and was _honored_ to celebrate with tonight?

_Stop being stupid, Waterflower, _Misty berated herself, _the bastard was referring to YOU and you know it. But why? Why is he getting mushy? Why is he breaking 'the deal'? And if he meant the words, then why isn't he here now, celebrating with you? Why is he confusing you like this . . . again!? Should you leave? Go downstairs and back to your own room? Just block his number from your phone? Just move the hell ON with your life already? What's your game, Gary Oak? And—_ the golden pillow became a sponge for her tears _—why did you ever have to break my heart?_

The brutal butchering of Misty's heart happened eight years ago. Despite the passing of time, she remained raw and bleeding out, which permanently stained her ability to trust. Gary had contaminated any other man from a chance at mending her. Over the years Misty had dated many men, but no amount of cute smiles or random hook-ups could bleach out Gary's stain.

Misty was nineteen when her heart died. She woke up one day in love with her boyfriend and went to bed destroyed by him. Misty wished that she could blame her buddy, Ash, for he had set her up with Gary on a blind date for her eighteenth birthday. At the time Misty thought Ash had given her the best gift ever! She and Gary had fallen for one another hard and fast. The then doctoral student was charming, quick-witted, ambitious, loved Pokemon, and his absurd attractiveness didn't hurt either. The two had been inseparable for the next year, actually making plans to move in together. While Gary wasn't her first kiss, he was the first boy she had ever been physically intimate with. He was a lot more sexually experienced than she was then, _but Misty trusted him._ She had thought that they would be together forever. Marriage, babies and all of that happily-ever-after crap.

But the jerk cheated on her with some random skank.

Eighteen-year-old Gary was too cocky, too sloppy and he left the skank's messages on his phone. It didn't take a scientist to discover the devastating deeds of one.

When Misty confronted Gary he did not deny his betrayal— he owned up to his actions. Misty dumped him immediately. He watched her walk out his door and made no effort to stop her. She blocked him on all forms of social media and his number from her phone. Misty cried herself to sleep for days . . . for weeks . . . for months . . . even years later, that _unbleachable_ _stain _tainted her cheeks when she least expected it . . .

. . . like right now.

Over the years it was impossible not to hear about the 'Amazing Professor Gary Oak', both professionally and personally. It was impossible not to see the tabloid covers and social media feeds which boasted of the many bimbos he was dating. He was the '_Pokemon Playboy'_ — the '_most eligible bachelor in Kanto_', _blah, blah, blah_. Gary seemed to be enjoying the hell outta his life. He never reached out to grovel or even to offer an apology for ransacking her heart.

Two years ago Gary and Jocelyn 'broke the internet' when they announced their secret marriage to the world. The two had eloped after only meeting four months prior. Gary was already a world-famous researcher, and Jocelyn was an up-and-coming runway model. Misty was actually a fan of Jocelyn until the news broke, breaking what was left of her heart along with it. Speculations of a 'baby on the way' whipped through the media, but two years later the couple remained childless.

Misty reminisced the origin of her current situation: the 'unemotional, hard and with zero talking (unless it was dirty)' deal that they shared. The deal that made her a helpless hypocrite. The 'Oak-Waterflower affair' had begun just ten months ago. Misty and Gary happened to be at the same weekend-long water Pokemon convention. Gary was a last-minute guest speaker, standing in for another professor who had fallen ill and couldn't attend. Misty had no idea Gary was going to be there until she found herself trapped— in the front row of an overcrowded auditorium— while he was onstage giving a lecture! She had successfully avoided him in person for seven years, _and then there he was: _ hotter-than-a-Magmar-bathing-in-hot-coco _and_ he kept staring at her! _Staring _while he lectured about Moltres-remembers-what! _Starting_ at her like_ she_ _was _hot-coco-and-his-sweet-tooth-was-raging! That evening Misty hightailed it to the hotel bar and Gary found her there. He was already drunk on shots of Moltres-knows-what, claiming that he couldn't erase Misty from his mind, that he'd made a mistake, that he . . . _still loved her. _

The two started to argue— quite publicly and quite loudly— when Misty had the sense to drag his drunk ass to her hotel room. She wanted to verbally rip him a new asshole, but do so in a setting where neither of them ended up in a tabloid.

No sooner had the room door shut were they tearing each other's clothes off! It all happened so fast. Misty's morale had been sucked into a frenzied quicksand of ecstasy. She did not want to escape this rapture and she was so damn tired of being without it . . . _without him_.

After the sex they both sobered very quickly. They were equally unnerved by what had transpired between them. Gary had just claimed _to still love her _and had cheated on his wife. Misty had not claimed any such proclamation of love, but she had also betrayed Gary's wife . . . she was no better than the skank who was involved in their own breakup so many years before.

Gary was trembling, but not with regret . . . his face showcased an emotion far more terrifying to Misty. An emotion which validated his earlier drunken confessions. Misty knew that she _had t_o silence Gary before he could repeat those words while sober. Sober confessions caused the worst wounds— they could not simply be recalled like a Pokemon to a ball.

Misty had two options:

The obvious option, the smart one, the right one: turn him away to his wife. Curse him. Tell him this was a grave mistake and to forget it happened. They would go their separate ways again, and this time forever.

The second option, the stupid, selfish, fool-for-punishment-one: give her body what it wanted. Her body begged for _more Gary Oak. _The second option meant admitting that she was not simply _unwilling _to quit him, but that . . . _she was unable to do it. _But, Misty was not so daft as to place her heart on the chopping block again. She would never trust this scoundrel with her feelings.

Therefore Misty turned to Gary, and —with an expression so frigid she may as well've been wrought from ice —she proposed the deal. They could hook-up again, _in secret._ But only if the experience was unemotional, hard and with zero talking (unless it was dirty). She was explicit: they were not friends with benefits because they were not — and never would be— friends. This was just sex. Gary easily matched her frosty facade, his own stare nearly causing her retinas frostbite, but neither flinched. Rather, the two exes . . . shook hands. They had a deal.

The two people who had avoided one another for seven years now crossed paths fairly often. Gary rented a cabin on the Lake of Rage to study the Gyarados. He spent many weekends away from home there, and Misty usually found an excuse to drop by— though always quickly. If anyone saw her, Gary explained that her water Pokemon expertise was crucial for his research. Sometimes they would just get lucky, invites to the same conferences came three times. Once his wife was even with him and they 'banged it out' while she was at a party in the next room. There were even a few occasions where Misty would demand to see Gary— when _she physically_ _needed him_. Despite their home bases being hours apart, passion would drive them to travel until their paths connected them, usually in a parking lot. A car's backseat could provide welcome relief just like a mattress, or the floor, or the wall, or a desk, or a stool, or a bike, or a big rock, or tree trunk, or . . . they'd exhausted nearly all sexual canvases. Gary used his beautiful body to make hers feel good and visa versa. They engaged in acts of sinful release, nothing more.

Misty was ironclad against allowing herself to love him again. That was Jocelyn's job. Misty now wondered again . . . why wasn't Jocelyn at the award ceremony tonight? Gary had publicly thanked her for 'tolerating' his long work hours, but provided no explanation for her absence. Misty felt badly for Jocelyn, but ignorance was bliss. At least that's what she told herself to sleep at night.

*~Knock~Knock~*

Misty's blood pressure spiked in unison with those taps from the door. Her heartbeat quickened and she cursed it. The only organ allowed excitement was the one between her legs.

It was 11:45 PM and Misty counted to forty-five before approaching the door. She would rather canoodle with a Caterpie than appear over-eager.

Misty inhaled and opened the door.

"Hey." Gary greeted her, grinning as though he'd just won 'Pokemon Researcher of the Year'—_oh wait, duh._ The professor leaned against the door frame, exuding casual elegance. His bowtie had come loose, but he was otherwise 'buttoned-up perfection' within that designer suit. Her sight frisked him before her hands took over. Upon the stage Gary looked like a tuxedo model, up close he was a tuxedo god. Tall, lean, athletic and radiating masculine sexuality. The dark fabric was perfectly tailored and illustrated Gary's broad shoulders and muscular arms. When he wasn't researching Pokemon he was working out, and it showed. Gary's trophy was in his right hand, he raised it proudly and entered the room with a strut of delight.

"You're late." Misty stated flatly, ignoring his glee.

Gary lowered his head like Growlithe pup who'd just been scolded, but he was quick to recover his delight. "I know. I'm sorry. I lost track of time, I should've texted you. I got swarmed by fans and media, it was impossible for me to escape the party without being tailed. But, Misty, c'mon, I won! Can you believe it? We have to celebrate!"

Without warning Gary picked her up by the waist and spun her around! Misty immediately pried his fingers from her and wriggled free. The moment her heels hit the carpet she shoved him backward, palming him in the chest with both hands! Gary staggered back a step, but regained his footing easily. His expression was the only part of him she'd hurt. But, like a resilient Growlithe pup, Gary seemed to shake off her outburst and was smiling once more. He set his trophy on the nightstand and stood back to ogle it. "I just can't believe it! Gramps is so proud of me, Misty. And—" he faced her now and he was no longer admiring his award, he was now fully admiring her, "—you look spectacular, Misty. There's no one else I want to celebrate with. _Only you_. I've been thinking about you all day. Did you like my speech? You knew I was talking to you at the end, right?"

Misty assaulted him with a glare to put an Ekans Leer attack to shame. Hands on her hips, she hissed: "Shut up, Oak. Remember the deal? No chitchat. If your mouth isn't working my body than it shouldn't be working at all."

Gary closed the distance between them. He peeled each of Misty's hands from her hips and held them within his own. Misty suppressed a sensual shudder . . . surrendering into these hands was easier than breathing. But _Irate Misty_ would rather go blue holding her breath!

"C'mon," Gary pressed, flaunting a rather endearing smile, "let's open a bottle of champagne. I wanna celebrate with you. I wanna _share this with you_." Blue eyes hunted for jade, but Misty glanced to the side. Gary released her hands and jogged to the mini fridge. He retrieved a bottle of champagne and then two glasses from a shelf. He eyed the vodka bottle on the bed, the one Misty had been sipping from, but said nothing.

Misty grit her teeth, her words barely seeped through: "_Fine_, Oak. I'll have a drink with you. We can take sips while taking off our clothes."

Gary grunted with amusement and raised a flirty eyebrow at Misty. She swallowed hard, her mouth going dry, but not from thirst for alcohol. _Damn, _was he ever sexy while behaving like a stubborn pain in the ass. Misty wanted to taste Gary. _Now._

Gary poured their glasses, then handed Misty her own while raising his. "A toast! To you, Misty, thank you for being here. Forget the award. I just wanna celebrate how lucky I am to be spending this night with _you."_

Misty scoffed loudly, refusing to clank glasses and indulged in a gluttonous mouthful. Squinting against the champagne bubbles, she eyed him like a common Rattata. "Um, no. I'm not spending the night. I don't plan to be here fifteen minutes from now. Get to it, Oak. It won't take long."

Now did the smily scientist frown. He set his glass down on the nightstand, untouched. "Misty, please, I'm sorry I got here so late. I really am. Please forgive me? Let me make it up to you? And let me spend more than fifteen minutes doing it." A teasing smirk tugged on those delicious lips.

"Don't apologize to me. Don't even talk to me. Just hurry up and do what you came up here to do." Misty shot back the entire glass, and Gary raised his entire brow. He was either impressed or concerned, but the alcohol fueling her bloodstream was also hindering her ability to effectively translate his facial features. _Dang, _did those bubbles tickle her nose worse than a kinky feather. Misty preferred the vodka. If she wasn't already feeling woozy, she would have gone for the bottle again.

Gary's lips parted —as though he wanted to say something—but no words came. Misty sighed with blatant satisfaction. _Finally! _Professor Blabbermouth had shut up. Even in her heels it took effort to stretch up and reach him, but Misty was quite seasoned in the execution of capturing Gary's mouth. With more force than necessary, her hands each claimed a fistful of his hair. To the eye Gary's spikes resembled a Sandslash, but they were so soft they seemed to melt through her fingers. Misty crushed her lips against Gary's — she kissed him forcefully, as though the act might somehow crush her heartache — pound away the admittance she could never spit out fast enough to deny . . .

. . . up close, like _this_ . . . the bastard still caused her heart to flutter.

Gary's lips were equally salacious, and he moaned into her mouth as his hands went to work. Those large fingers were upon her backside, cupping her ass and squeezing _—hard, _just the way she liked it. Even through the dress fabric his fingers were like spark-plugs to her flesh. Goosebumps rippled across Misty as a sexual-charge jolted her harder than any Raichu. Gary's very scent was intoxicating: manly aftershave and manly pheromones infused her with lust. The energy of ecstasy seemed to move between them, and this energy now possessed him. Gary seized the fabric over her backside and hiked her dress northward, continuing until it bunched around her waist, fully exposing her legs and thong to the cool air. While one hand secured the dress, the other returned to her buttocks and clutched her right cheek firmly. He was both an asshole and an 'ass man', her backside was always irresistible to him.

The combined effects of his hand on Misty's ass and his tongue in her mouth heated her bloodstream beyond what the vodka could ever do! Releasing Gary's hair, Misty yanked his bowtie free and relieved his torso of the jacket. Even through the dress shirt his broad shoulders and solid pectorals pleased her hands. His heart pounded against her palm as though it were going to tear straight through him. Misty worked the buttons on his vest and dress shirt, then stripped him of the items, revealing his naked beautiful torso: robust chest and powerful arms . . . _he was such a stud._

Gary's body was as familiar to her fingers as her own —she had him mapped out perfectly. Misty knew where every freckle was, every tickle spot, and every erogenous zone. She knew _just how and where _to add pressure that would draw out guttural moans. Pink lips began to thoroughly defile naked skin.

Gary's jawline: smooth and supple, he'd shaved only hours ago. His throat: soft, vulnerable and left the hint of cologne upon her tongue. His chest: solid muscles bound by soft skin. His chest had little to no hair, not because Gary was short on testosterone (hardly), but because he maintained himself neatly. His nipples: hard from arousal and only growing stiffer under her tongue. Misty licked the salt of his skin and chased it by claiming his mouth once more.

The man was breathless against her. One large hand wrapped around her throat now, controlling the tilt of her head, granting his own mouth control. He kissed her deeply — _expertly_— and Misty's knees physically buckled. Gravity tested Gary's reflexes as he grabbed her waist, effectively telling gravity to '_fuck off'_. The only force laying her flat-out tonight would be him.

Misty moved eagerly against him, she was beyond turned on— _beyond ready—_ and so was Gary. His arousal was evident against her and Misty was about to crawl-out-of-her-damn-skin if he didn't take her right now!

Fingers fiddled with the zipper on Misty's dress back, and she whimpered into Gary's mouth, begging him to hurry up! But . . . he wasn't pulling the zipper down . . . all of his attention remained on her lips, and Gary's pace was . . . slowing down.

The hands upon Misty's throat and zipper retreated and glided gently to her cheeks. Gary now cupped her face as though she were more precious than a million trophies. Before Misty could react Gary had transformed their kiss: frantic, savage lust melted into a painstakingly-slow display of tenderness. This new kiss was . . ._ intimate, genuine, affectionate._ This kiss was _the kiss of death _to her hardened heart. Gary was drinking her very soul from her mouth, and if he continued —_ if she allowed this—_ he was going to reincarnate her hea—_NO, Waterflower!_— she didn't think she'd have the power to—_NO, Waterflower! NO!_

As though Gary were breathing flame did Misty yank herself free of him. She staggered backward, nearly stumbling as booze and mudded euphoria weakened her. "Stop it! What are you doing?!" Misty yelled so loudly that Jocelyn probably heard her back home, in their marriage bed. For added dramatics Misty charged at Gary, shoving him backward and onto the bed.

Gary gaped up at Misty, wholly startled. "Misty I . . .I'm kissing you _the way you like it_."

"No, _you're not_. Your kissing me the way you'd kiss your wife, not the dirty little secret that you're banging."

Did his jawbone just come loose? Because Gary's mouth hung open wide. Pain flashed within his eyes and Misty actually sneered down at him, much like he use to do to Ash when they were kids. "Stick to the deal, Oak." Misty wasn't going to grant him additional time to process the situation —despite his idiocy, she still_ wanted him._ Her body _needed him_.

Misty leaned over Gary, curling her fingers around his throat and jerking his face toward hers. Her mouth was brutal, she sucked on and bit his lower lip and hoped that it would be bruised. A little souvenir for his foolishness, and he could have fun explaining the mark to his wife.

Gary sat upright, ridged and unresponsive. When he made no effort to return her kiss Misty pulled back. She cocked a challenging eyebrow at her lover and picked up his hands, directing them to her breasts.

Appreciation lit Gary's eyes and his hands did indeed fondle her . . . for a moment. But then his fingers were back on Misty's face. Gary brushed his thumb across her lips and tenderly tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. "You look beautiful. When I saw you in the ballroom you took my breath away."

Misty answered him by grabbing his belt buckle, making quick work to unclasp it. "Take off your pants, Oak," she ordered flatly.

Gary frowned and his eyes flared with unabashed irritation. "No."

"Take off your pants." Misty repeated, sterner then before.

"Nope." Obstinate arms folded over his bare chest.

Misty narrowed her eyes into dangerous green slits. She dropped to her knees before him and parted his legs. Flaunting a victorious smirk the redhead proceeded to kiss him square between his thighs — his already awakened manhood bulged painfully against the pant fabric.

"Misty—_ohhh—_damn, wait! Stop. We need to talk." Strong hands were on her shoulders, halting her from administering her seductive acts.

"Shut up, Oak. No talking. I'm in your room for one reason." Undeterred, Misty shook Gary's hands from her shoulders and undid the first pant button, she paused and rubbed his groin through the fabric. The man was hard as a damn oak tree — primed and ready to go— _so what was his problem?_

"No." Gary crossed his legs.

Frustrated, Misty glared up at him and he looked down at her. All defiance was vanquished from his facade. Gary looked like a kid whose starter Pokemon had been stolen.

"Misty, I've achieved so many things, but all I feel is regret." He took her hands, pulling her upward to sit on the bed beside him. Startled by his words, Misty did not fuss and Gary continued: "I love you." The confession was but a breath, and the most sincere, sweetest, hopeful, little smile dared to play upon his lips.

"Shut up." Misty verbally massacred his little smile. "Pull down your pants. Use your body and make my body feel good. But I'll _never _let you touch my heart ever again."

Gary reached for Misty and she swatted him like a pesky bug. "Please, Misty, I love you."

"Oh well."

"I love you. I want to be with you."

She bolted to her feet now. "Too bad. Get over it. By Mew, you're a married man!"

"I've already left Jocelyn." Gary joined her standing, his bold sight ensnaring hers. "We filed for a divorce weeks ago and signed the papers yesterday. It's done. We're over. That's why she's not here. We were 'saving face' until the award ceremony was over tonight. But this will be public by mid-week—"

"NO!" Misty now shrieked as though he were a bug! "Are you an idiot? Why would you do that?"

"Because I don't love Jocelyn. I love you. I have _always_ loved you."

"You never loved me. You only love yourself. I'm just your ex-girlfriend-slash-dirty-secret, Gary. "

"That's not true, and I never thought of you as my 'dirty secret'."

"Then why did you agree to our deal: unemotional, hard—"

He severed her words: "It was the only way you'd allow me into your life again. I thought, well I'd hoped, our time together meant more to you than 'just sex'. Being intimate with you was never unemotional for me. But sex with Jocelyn has always been just that. I was infatuated with her at first, I rushed into a marriage because I thought it might dampen my feelings for you. Instead the opposite happened. Jocelyn is a wonderful woman, there's nothing wrong with her except that she's not you."

Misty sight now landed upon Gary's left hand, his wedding band was missing. Had it been gone the entire evening? How had she not noticed before this moment? "Does Jocelyn know about me?"

"Yes, I told her everything. I can't live this lie anymore."

"By Mew! Your head is thicker than a Golem!" Misty jabbed a finger into Gary's bare chest as though she were trying to squash a bug! "This is so typical 'Gary Oak!'. How presumptuous can you be?! You thought you'd just up and divorce your wife _to be with me —_ not even mention it to me— _and what_? That we'd live happily ever after? I don't need you in my life again. I don't want _you_, I want your body. That's it. I will _never _trust you again."

Gary did not flinch against the pain her finger-jabs were causing. But the cuts in her own heart were evident within his eyes. Gary's hands were lowered defenselessly at his sides, his voice— his eyes— pleading for emotional mercy. "If I'd told you that I wanted to leave Jocelyn, that I wanted to be with you, you wouldn't have believed me! Or you would've tried to talk me out of it— anything that would've kept your own feelings for me at bay. The only way to prove to you _how serious I am about you_ was just to do it: get a divorce. So I did." His entire expression, his voice, became a very un-Gary-like despairing plead: "Misty, please, forgive me? I was a stupid teenager when I hurt you. The stupidest. I hate myself for ever hurting you at all. But that was eight years ago. I'm not the same juvenile idiot who took you for granted. I've changed."

"Like hell you've changed! You've been cheating on your wife with me for almost a year!"

The self-identified idiot reached forward and took her hand, stroking her fingers. "Please, Misty, forgive me? Be with me. I can't keep torturing myself by sleeping with you, not when my heart needs more."

"Too bad." Misty shook his hand loose from her again. "Are we going to have sex or not?"

As though finally experiencing the totality of her finger-jabs, Gary flinched. "Misty,_ please,_ you're . . . breaking my heart."

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Per the deal, Misty delivered the line _unemotional and hard. _

Though Misty's bitter words were hurting him, they failed to intimidate him. Gary's resolve was seemingly wrought from a Steelix hide. Like Misty he thrived on challenge and he could endure her verbal blows like no other man could.

"We get to live one life, Misty. _One._ I want to spend mine with you. I know that you love me so stop being so damn stubborn. I already wasted eight years being stubborn, selfish and stupid. I don't wanna be an old man in a wheelchair one day regretting _this _very moment, that I let you walk out of my life for a second time." His expression was damn genuine — those cobalt orbs beyond sincere . . . Misty dug her heels into the carpet, grounding herself against the fleeting temptation to forgive him. She could not be weak again. Not ever. Her heart could not survive Gary Oak twice.

"Unfortunately for you, Gary, I _know _you. I can sniff out your Tauros-shit. The only thing Gary Oak likes more than banging girls is _winning_. You'll say anything if you think I'll hand over my heart, and the joke will be on me the next time some slut offers to blow you."

"I've gotten all of that out of my system. I've played the field and all it's brought me is loneliness. You aren't just some prize to me, Misty, you're the woman I love."

"No. I'm not. You destroyed that version of me. Brutally!" Her voice nearly broke, but Misty caught it and solidified the delivery. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her crack, it would only encourage him.

Gary raised a critical eyebrow and huffed: "Now you're just being dramatic."

"And now you're just pissing me off."

"Well, you're starting to piss me off." Gary raked frustrated fingers through auburn spikes. "Do you want me to get on my hands and knees and grovel?! I'm good enough to fuck you at your beck and call, good enough to turn you inside out at your every whim. . . but worthy of your forgiveness? Nope! You can't spare it?! You can't give me _even a chance_ to redeem myself?_ Noooooo, no way_. Because Misty will give second chances to everyone on the damn planet _except _the man she loves!"

"Don't flatter yourself, Oak. I only love what's in your pants. Lucky for you it's as big as your ego or I would've walked out by now."

The young professor's face became a barren wasteland — frozen and unpredictable. He clenched his jaw so hard that Misty actually heard his teeth grind. Gary nodded one time and then retrieved his shirt from the floor and started re-dressing. "You need to leave, Misty." The words were so hushed, they barely reached her ears.

Feelings long-buried within the tomb of Misty's heart now clawed up her windpipe, desperate to find her tongue and burst free. But Misty's pride choked these feelings back . . . swallowing broken glass would have been easier. "You can't throw me out because I'm leaving!"

Gary walked toward the door with all the semblance of a robot. He opened it for her and gestured for her to leave. "Goodbye, Misty." His lips ejected those two words mechanically, void of emotion. Moments ago his eyes radiated desire, he looked upon her with blazing devotion. Now the lights in his eyes had gone out . . . the power had been shut off from his heart. Misty knew these empty eyes very well: she saw them in the mirror every morning.

If he was allowed go numb, then she would too. Misty could survive on numbness, she could not survive on betrayal— she could not survive with a terrified, paranoid, broken heart. Misty held her red head high, she would not give Gary the dignity of a verbal reply. She stared forward into the hall, her sight locked upon a random painting of Articuno on the wall. Misty silently prayed to the legendary bird to grant her strength and she . . .

. . . walked out the door.

Gary shut it behind her.

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NOTE: Although I intended for this story to be two chapters long, I just kept writing and . . . it has become three, so stay tuned for the finale. The angst! Thank you sooo much to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter. I truly appreciate you taking the time to leave feedback. Reviews feed my Muse Redbull so I can write, write, write! I'm hoping to finish the next chapter this week and have it posted for you soon. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to reading your thoughts. Best wishes, Maia's Pen


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Heartbreak is a curious cruelty of life. As Misty walked toward the elevator she recalled her first experience with the sensation. She was three years old and her mother had gifted her with a helium balloon. Like the jewel of a Starmie did that balloon ever shine red! Little Misty paraded her new treasure outside — hoping to draw admiration from the neighborhood kids— but everyone was inside that day. So Misty and her balloon played together. She let go of the string and the balloon floated upward. Like a Mankey she jumped and retrieved it. Misty had quick reflexes and she delighted in testing them! The game continued: she freed the balloon and watched it go up, only to leap into the air to possess it again. This game of 'catch and release' lasted several rounds, until the breeze pushed her balloon up a little faster than before. Misty sprung for the string, but it slipped through her fingers. The balloon floated up . . . up. . . up . . . far away from her. Misty stretched her arms high above her head, hoping her balloon would come back down. But neither her calls or tears brought the balloon back. The bright red sphere shrunk smaller and smaller, eventually vanishing into the sky.

Adult Misty hastened her pace. Maybe she could leave the memory with Gary: behind her down the hallway.

Her own hotel room was several floors below. The 'booze-in-blood-high-heels-on-feet' combo was not conducive to stair climbing (or even walking for that matter). Misty needed to find the elevator before the alcohol threw away both her balance and the contents of her stomach.

Sight downcast Misty considered the carpet: it was red like her balloon. But had it always been that color? Was it red in honor of the hotel's namesake, Chateau Vulpix? Or was it red because her own heart was currently bleeding out upon it? And — _by Articuno_— what was on her face?

Fingers considered cheeks and Misty blinked, struggling to identify the wet substance. Certainly she was not shedding _more tears_ over Gary Oak?! _No!_ Such emotion was unacceptable!

Misty had wasted enough tears on him.

He didn't deserve her tears.

Misty approached the elevator, her finger preparing for the 'down button', but she paused. Someone sad and judgmental had appeared in the metallic door. That someone was her own reflection.

_Stop, Waterflower. Gary Oak is the love of your life. Turn around. Go back to him. You'll regret this moment for the rest of your life if you don't. He's serious about you. He's already left his wife for you! For the love of the legendaries, don't be so stubborn. Usually people get their hearts broken when the one they want doesn't want them back. Not the other way around! You want him, he wants you. So what the hell?! _

_Shut up, Waterflower. I can't be with that man and you know it. It's not that simple. I don't trust him. How can I serve my heart up to the devil to be devoured? He has not changed! If he had then he wouldn't have spent ten months cheating on his wife! How can I ever trust that he won't do the same to me?_

_Fair point, but, it takes two to commit adultery. Stop trying to sound all high and mighty. Gary is the love of your life. You can't stop loving him. You've been trying for eight years. And you can't stop loving him because you don't want to! You love that man, admit it! Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me that you're happy with your life! Tell me that the past ten months spent bedding the man were meaningless?! You can't do it. Gary makes you happy and you are miserable without him._

_Damn you. Fine. Yes, okay, I'll concede. He is the love of my life. THERE! I can't stop loving him. I can't deny that anymore. I love that man more than anything, and the thought of never seeing him again is breaking me all over. But I can't trust him. How can there be any hope of a healthy relationship after our history? _

_Because you love each other. Because no relationship is sunshine and roses. Human beings make mistakes, that's how we learn. Love takes work, love takes effort, and hard work and effort pay off. Giving up, Waterflower? Really? YOU? Giving up the most precious thing in your universe? Forfeiting love without even trying to fight? Because you're scared? Prideful? Now that is pathetic. Your cold words were killing Gary. Did you enjoy seeing him break before you? Beg for your forgiveness? Of course not. Gary is hurting and you hate to see him hurt. You have the power to take his pain away along with your own. Why be a murder and a masochist? Why not simply love him? Allow him to love you? _

_I . . . I . . . don't know . . ._

_GO BACK TO HIM. PLEASE, WATERFLOWER! PLEASE! PLEAASSEEE! _

Misty pushed the 'down button' as fresh tears poured down her cheeks.

Which was worse: living her entire life without Gary in it, or, living her entire life _with him _and never knowing if he were being faithful?

The elevator descended. Every second southward felt like an hour-long plunge toward the pit of hell. Fingers fluttered over the elevator's buttons . . . with such a small addition of pressure she could direct the lift to take her back up—_No no no! Where is your pride?! He's probably on the phone with Jocelyn already, trying to sort everything out, patch it all back up! Do NOT push that button!_

Misty pressed her palms against the wall instead, face downcast and watched new tears spill upon the floor. Why were these tears translucent in color? Why weren't they red? Weren't eye sockets merely the escape route? Wasn't this how the heart shed its unbearable gore?

Palms pounded against the wall —_hard —_ as though Misty could somehow crush her feelings for Gary; pummel them into oblivion if she continued to pummel that wall. Her palms ached. A broken hand would be welcome compared to her broken heart. There was no medical cast for her primal organ.

The elevator door opened. Misty was thankful for a vacant hallway. No one was present to witness her state: drunk, sobbing and nearly disfiguring her own hands.

Once inside her quarters Misty made a dash for the restroom. Her body could no longer endure the liquid spirits or her own broken one. One hand skimmed the restroom light switch, but failed to flick it on. Not because her fingers were damaged, but because they were afraid. The darkness obscured her mirror reflection. Misty didn't have to face her own grief-stricken, pleading self _again_. She would rather miss the toilet and vomit upon the floor.

_Ah well, the bathtub,_ that was easy to—

Misty retched into the huge bathing basin, it was detectable even in the dark. Bitter booze-based bile gushed from her lips. The vodka had been like lava going down, now it scalded like acid rain — burning with ulcerative-rage as it was forced to evacuate. Vomit scorched her esophagus, her tongue and coated her teeth in an eroding film. Misty gaged, eyes tearing, as wave after brutal-nauseated-wave convulsed her frame. Like a wax sculpture left to the mercy of the sun did the remaining fifth drip from her lips and down her chin. An exhausted and empty Misty clung to the tub rim, trembling and spitting.

The relief was immediate. Misty was granted the strength to stand, the wherewithal to think and the courage to . . .

She ran the shower.

She rinsed away the evidence of her upset.

Next Misty turned to the sink. Washing her face and brushing her teeth would feel like lavish pampering, but, she_ had to turn on the light to see._

Misty tested the plastic switch beneath her finger. It didn't feel as ominous as it had minutes ago. Brightness illuminated the room and she acknowledged her own flush-face with a nod. She then busied herself with freshening-up. When she was finished her reflective-self let loose a mighty sigh.

_If you won't listen to me . . . maybe it's time to call in for backup? _

Misty retrieved her cellphone from her purse. The 'backup' she sought was at the top of her 'recent calls' list. She pressed the name to initiate a face-to-face vidphone chat. It rang twice before her long-time friend, Pokemon Master Ash Ketchum, appeared.

Ash grinned like a Gengar, his head bopping along to music blaring in the background. The Pokemon Master was still downstairs in the ballroom, and he was enjoying the hell outta Gary's award shindig! Murkrow-black hair was slicked back neatly for the occasion, and Misty identified Ash's golden bowtie at the bottom of her screen. It was his fanciest bowtie. Ash was dressin' for the impressin'!

"Mist?" Her name was accompanied by a visual shakedown. Brown eyes examined flushed cheeks, scarlet-rimmed lids and then considered her surroundings. "You look like a Voltorb about to self-destruct." Ash had to shout over the music and laughter surrounding him. "Mist, what are ya doin' in your hotel bathroom? You're missing one heck of a party!"

Emotion usurped voice and Misty could only offer him: "You talk?"

Like a Pokemon overdue to evolve did Ash's expression rapidly change. Her friend took on a familiar expression — it was ridged and decisive— like when he'd surmised a battling opponent's weakness. Ash opened his mouth, but was suddenly replaced with another familiar facade: that of her own sister, Lily. Ash cried out in surprised protest as his cellphone was snatched from his hand.

"Hey little sister! W-T-F!? Get your ass down here! Let's show the boys how the Sensational Sisters get down to the beat!" Lily's magenta locks were styled into a fabulous updo, and she shook those locks wildly as she scolded Misty. The younger Sensational Sister forced a smile, Lily was drunk and (unlike Ash) oblivious to her sadness.

"Gimme my phone back!" came Ash, his face popping in and out of the screen like a Diglett from a hole.

Lily twirled around, easily evading the Pokemon Master and giggled. "She's my sister, Master boy! My talking rights outrank yours!"

"Yeah, but that's _my_ phone!"

"Settle down, kids," came another — notably calmer — voice. The cellphone was plucked from Lily by a third familiar face.

"Hi, Lance, Sir." Misty bowed her head, quickly catching her sensibilities like wild Pokemon. She needed to appropriately acknowledge her sister's date, this was _the_ Dragon Master himself!

Lance flashed his famous poster boy grin. His own spikes of hair were as shiny and untamed as one of the red Gyarados that Gary studied. The Dragon Master considered Misty for a moment, and then exchanged his grin for a considerate frown.

Misty could hear Lily and Ash bickering nearby, but their volume failed to overwhelm Lance's words: "We all wish you were enjoying the party with us, Misty."

"Thank you, Lance." Misty laced courage into her tone, but Lance raised a discerning eyebrow. This was a man who read the vulnerability of others as a career.

"Go on. Explain your dilemma." Lance was as sharp as his namesake. Lily and Ash were now peeking into the phone screen, blinking like curious Hoothoots.

"May I . . . get some advice?"

Lance nodded, encouraging her to ask for just that.

"I've been given an . . . opportunity. It's something I really want. I want it so _so much, but_ I'm terrified to accept it. I'm not sure I'm ready for the opportunity. I don't know why this offer has even fallen into my lap. I'm nervous that the offer could get re-negged on me and I don't wanna waste my time. I've been disappointed before, to say the least. I mean, what if it doesn't work out—"

Lance held up a finger, thoughtfully silencing her. Lily and Ash were holding their breath, in suspense as to how Lance could possibly coach Misty given so little detail.

"I'm going to stop you right there, Misty, because all I'm hearing are excuses. I don't tolerate excuses from any of the young trainers I mentor. And so I'm gonna give you the same advice that I give to those I coach year after year," he narrowed his eyes, "if you want something bad enough you'll work hard for it. If not you'll find an excuse." His frown flipped into an encouraging smile and he added: "If you never throw a Pokeball, you'll never win a battle." Misty saw Lily swoon and 'hand fan' herself at his side.

Misty matched his smile. "Thank you, Lance."

"That'll be a five dollar coaching fee." Lance teased, winking at Misty. The Dragon Master returned Ash's phone so his hand was free to hold Lily's. The couple vanished from the picture, obviously heading back to the dance floor.

Ash shrugged sheepishly into the phone screen. "Everyone is drunk," he half-sighed-half-laughed. "I am too, though. And my date is currently stumbling around and polling the room on their favorite Pokemon."

Misty tried to laugh, but it perished in her throat.

Ash paused, assessing her expression again. He could scan her like a Pokedex on a Pidgey. "You know, Mist, it's pretty strange that Gary Oak — a guy who _lives_ to be the center of attention — isn't here. He's missing his own party, the _party of a lifetime,_ where everyone wants to fawn over him and praise him for being the best researcher blah, blah, blah. I mean, the guy is one of my closest friends, and I know him well enough to know that this is _waaayyyy_ out-of-character for him." Ash outdid Lance and raised both of his eyebrows. "I just thought that was interesting is all. I can't imagine what could be more important to Gary than _this party? Can you?_" Ash smirked, wrinkling his nose at her and Misty couldn't help but mirror him. Genuine affection bounced back and forth, as though they were standing inches apart and no phone screen separated them. The warmth of Ash's optimism and forgiving nature were nearly palpable. Misty could _see _his willingness — _his need _— to let go and forgive within his eyes and . . . Misty stiffened. These were not Ash's emotions that she saw. These were her own. She could see these feelings upon her own face . . . reflecting back at her . . . _within his own eyes_.

"Ash, how long have you known?" Misty wasn't even surprised.

"I might seem oblivious to a lot of stuff, Mist, but—" Ash whispered into the microphone, "—_y_ou two aren't as stealthy as ya think. Just be happy already, alright? I'm tired of you two being mopey-fuckin-magikarps twenty-four-seven." Ash wasn't exactly a wordsmith like Lance, but the blunt earnestness of his words dried her mouth as though she _were _a mopey-fuckin-magikarp stranded on land.

"Hey, Ash, I have to go. Um, good luck with your date and . . . thanks for answering the phone."

"Always." The Master smiled coyly. "I knew you'd beat me with a mallet if I hit 'ignore'."

Ash was the one who'd set Misty up on that blind date with Gary so many years ago. He'd now also set a spotlight of truth upon her.

As the screen went black did Misty's reflective face light up. Her expression would outshine Zapdos, mid-Thunderbolt attack!

Now did every cell in Misty's body compel her to rush back to that elevator!

Now the passing of time was at Rapidash-speed!

Now Misty was running — and doing so remarkably well in her heels!

Now did Misty find herself in front of Gary's hotel room door. She was panting, her legs and feet ached as though she'd been trying to out-kick a Hitmonlee.

Misty faced Gary's door and raised her fist to knock, but paused to glance over her shoulder at the wall painting of Articuno opposite his room. She silently thanked the legendary bird for clearing the emotional blizzard from her mind.

An electronic beep caused Misty to jump, and she faced the door as it swung open. Gary stood in the frame. He examined her: fist raised frozen in place, as though by Articuno's will. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Too stubborn to knock? _Really_?"

"You're such an ass," Misty couldn't help but smile against the words. Her raised fist fell to her side. "Were you watching through the peephole? Waiting for me?"

Gary nodded, unabashed.

"How'd you know I'd come back?"

"I didn't," he answered honestly, "I just hoped that you would."

The smile on her lips deepened and Misty playfully pushed Gary back inside the room. But the loud bang of the door jarred all happiness from her lips. Misty faced Gary seriously: "I was in my room. . . I called Ash and he called us-us mopey-fuckin-magikarps. And, well, I threw up before that and I couldn't . . . Ash said to be happy already. I banged up my hands on the elevator. And Lance had good advice too and, I-I want to throw a Pokeball. I want to be happy." New tears ambushed her, effectively washing away Gary's happiness too. His eyes were a blend of azure astonishment and cobalt confusion, but he never removed his focus from her own.

"Misty," Gary breathed her name as though it were more precious than air, and his strong arms were around her. Her professor pulled her in wonderfully-tight, and Misty nestled against his chest, relishing the familiar thump of his heart beneath her ear.

Her small hands gripped the fabric of his jacket like a life-raft. "Do you really love me?"

Warm lips were upon her ear: "I really love you, Misty."

Her heart beat faster and she faced Gary now, eyes of vulnerable jade no longer keeping his own at bay.

"I love you." Gary repeated, and her heartbeat spiked again. With one finger he tipped her chin toward him. "I love you." Each proclamation of love was like a chest compression — pumping fresh blood — the blood of forgiveness, of necessity, of happiness— throughout her body. "And, it's my turn to sound dramatic, Misty, because I don't know how to live my life without you in it." Screw the chest compressions! That last line hit her heart like a defibrillator and the taste of love was now upon her lips.

Time itself seemed to bend as their lips moved together. Gary and Misty were a solo act of passion in this universe, and their very souls seemed to align. Gary's yearning_ for her _— his devotion _to her_—flowed through his mouth and Misty drank ravenously! All of that vanilla vodka and fancy champaign were shit compared to the taste of him. Misty thirsted for the forever intoxication only Gary could provide: the blissfulness of feeling her love returned.

Reality reminded them of their need for oxygen. Gary pulled back — just barely— and Misty felt him smile against her lips. "I love you," his words were but a breath. Though starved for air these words were deemed more critical than inhaling.

Misty held her man and she held him tight. The string attached to her balloon. Second chances. The balloon had floated back to her, just low enough for her to reach out, straining upon tippy-toes to claim it. Her grip was as steadfast as his heartbeat. As strong as his arms. As secure as she felt within them. As firm as what roused between his legs as she pressed more intimately against him. Misty knew that she would never release this string . . . Gary . . . _this feeling, _again. Misty captured his mouth next. She kissed Gary with such fervency that his lips would be swollen and red like her hands. Red like the blood pumping through their hearts. Red like her balloon.

Her hands demanded their turn and so her lips relinquished his own. Misty cherished Gary's jawline with fingers. She grazed her thumb across his lower lip and he trembled. His lips took in her thumb and _sucked, _causing a sizzle from there to the hottest point between her thighs. Blue eyes smoldered with tender longing — with the shameless _need _to physically prove to Misty just how much he loved her.

"Gary, I do love you." The man had milked the very confession from her— as his mouth continued to torture her thumb, teasing what his lips could do to other parts of her body.

Drawing on every once of self-control, Misty gently retreated her thumb. She needed to speak seriously before his ethereal sexiness possessed her. "I forgive you. But I'll never forget how you hurt me. And if you hurt me again—"

"I won't." Gary conquered her concerns within a chaste kiss. He pressed his brow against hers, as though desperate to brand her with his sincerity. "Thank you for giving me the chance to prove myself to you."

The fiery redhead was speechless for the first time in her entire life.

Small hands ascended Gary's body. Fingers eagerly climbed his mountain of muscles. Through his dress shirt she traversed hard abdominals, muscled ribs and firm pectorals . . . finally reaching the pinnacle of his broad physique. Misty traced his Adam's apple and then landed upon the highest button of his shirt. She was going to worship Gary, and the experience would not be unemotional and hard or silent. Misty would sear her love for this man into every touch, every kiss, every movement of her hips.

Mischief and passion glinted within Gary's sight and he matched her grin — daring her — _begging her _— to release that first button . . . releasing both of their hearts from solitary confinement.

Misty Waterflower did free that button, and then she freed all of the buttons below it.

Gary allowed her to claim his buttons, but that was where his generosity — or rather restraint —died. With the finesse of a professional stripper he relieved himself of the shirt and lay waste to it upon the floor. Misty hadn't the chance to admire bare-chested Gary, before he hoisted her up and over his shoulder like a caveman! Misty's bellybutton was upon his shoulder and her ass practically in his face. This naughty position awarded her a fantastic-albeit-upside-down view of his own backside. His rear was sexy in dress pants, but Misty knew it would look even better with no pants. She was slapped from her dirty musings as a firm hand landed upon her own rear.

"Buckle up, darlin'," Gary announced, moving toward the bed, "because I've got plans for you tonight. Oh, and I'm not letting go of you again. Ever." His wonton words were chased by sexy laughter.

"Not ever, huh? Well, _that_ sounds clingy." She missed teasing him in the verbal arena along with the physical one. "Plus, I don't know if you have the stamina for that, buckaroo."

"I do hope that's a challenge," Gary taunted and pulled her dress up, gifting himself with a _very _up close and personal view of her backside. "Very nice," he breathed appreciatively, "you know how I love a red thong."

Anticipation nearly suffocated Misty. She couldn't see where Gary's hand was headed . . . what he was preparing to _do _to her exposed flesh. The man could unravel her sanity with just one large skillful finger. And the mere inkling that he was preparing such a deed aroused her to the point of near blackout. Hormones boiled Misty's bloodstream and pooled between her thighs, but —_somehow—_she retained the wits to banter back: "It's very much a challenge, _Mister 'Researcher of the Year'._"

One long finger slid under her thong, and with a proficient pull the panties were sliding down her thighs en route to her knees. Next did a singular swift motion land Misty upon the bed. She was laying on her back with Gary leaning over her. Misty heard the zipper of his pants coming undone, but her eyes did not venture south to the source. In this moment she was not capable of looking away from his handsome face.

Gary smiled, eyes flaring, and his trousers dropped. "Challenge accepted, my love."

Was the hour very late or very early? The exact time no longer mattered.

Gary Oak mattered. Misty meant _everything _to him and he meant everything to her. She was his balloon too.

The End

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NOTE: Thank you to everyone who didn't abandon ship on this ship. ;) Please review. If you read this, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Don't know what to say? A smilie face will do. :) I write to know that someone is reading (other than me!). My adult life got pretty crazy this spring. I traveled so much for work that I was only in my own bed three nights since March. BLEH! My Muse isn't always keen on traveling with me, but now that I am home she's helped me finish this story. :) And I have more stories on the way! Thank youuu sooo much for reading and reviewing! Egoshipping love to all! xoxo Maia's Pen


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